CoB: Family Matters [Sketch, Pics]

I’ve had this idea rolling around for a bit, but no time to make it into something longer. It’ll still probably get turned into a full City of Bears story at some point, with a few additional twists to it.

“Fuck boy, you’re such a hot fucker, damn,” Brett said, pushing back against his cub’s cock as he fucked him. Malcolm just moaned, as is other daddy. Garth, gripped him tight, around the belly, and pushed his own cock a little deeper into the boy’s ass, sandwiching him between his two daddies, right where he belonged, right were he assumed he’d be forever.

After a few minutes, they got their rhythm together, and fucked in a train for a few minutes. Malcolm, assaulted on both sides, lost his load first, pumping his cum deep into Brett’s ass, both of his daddies telling him how proud they were of him. Garth pushed the boy over the side of the bed and fucked him a bit deeper, while Brett got on the bed, and slid his cock into Malcolm’s mouth, the two bears leaning over him and sharing a kiss until they came, filling the cub at both ends.

Afterwards, the three of them laid in their sizable bed together, cuddling, discussing their plans to go out the next night and where in the city they might like to go, and it wasn’t long before his two daddies were snoring–but Malcolm wasn’t feeling very sleepy, he was still so damn horny. He slipped out from between his two daddies, and went to the computer to look at some porn–navigating to something a bit…wilder than his daddies were particularly interested in, but which Malcolm had been enjoying lately. Just looking couldn’t do any harm, right?

*

It was a few days later that malcolm woke up, and discovered the first tattoo. Thankfully it was…somewhat discrete, and he managed to cover it before either of his daddies saw it, and he frantically tried to figure out what to do. He…wasn’t changing, was he? He didn’t feel any different. Maybe it was just something residual from the club the day before, and he just hadn’t noticed it. In any case, he kept it covered up that day, slipping out of the house to investigate some services that might help remove the tattoo–but he was dismayed to find that everywhere he went, they couldn’t seem to get rid of it.

The next day, there were more, and he didn’t cover them quickly enough. His daddies saw them, and threw a fit, demanding to know where he’d gotten them, demanding to know what in the world he was thinking about. Their anger confused him–on one hand, he felt so shameful for letting something like this happen and come between him and his daddies, even if they were a bit vanilla and stodgy, but on the other hand, he felt something inside him craving punishment, and discipline, and he found himself flipping between two extreme moods. One moment, he would be screaming back at them, furious for not caring or understanding what he wanted, and the next he would be apologizing, stripping, and begging his daddies to punish him like the bad boy he was.

Brett and Garth didn’t know what to make of it–the change had been so sudden, and they both believed they could reason with him, and get their sweet little cub back–but it was clear, after another day, things were only getting worse. Malcolm, or Mal as he was calling himself now, slipped out of the house and didn’t return for days, coming back reeking of sex, saying the most vile things to them both. Garth…lost his temper, and locked him down in the basement, telling Brett to keep an eye on him, not listen to a word he said, and to keep him down there while he went to find something that might help.

He spent all day in the city, and found nothing for his situation. In fact, most men, one they heard the story, were appalled. Change was normal, and something that should be embraced. They couldn’t expect to keep their cub from changing, if that’s what he wanted. He returned to the house, defeated, in the afternoon, told Brett what he’d found out…and Garth convinced him that they should just keep him down there. That until he wanted to be their good little cub again, he’d just have to be punished.

Brett hated the idea, but went along with it. In the basement, Mal raised a louder and louder fit, pounding on the locked door, screaming horrific obscenities into the air, his voice dropping lower, growing gruffer, making Brett shake every time he had to pass the door. Garth kept looking for a solution in the city, but turned up nothing. He should have seen it coming, really–Brett didn’t have the resolve Garth did, and when he came home and found the basement door unlocked and open–he just assumed Brett had let him out, and Mal had fled. However, he didn’t find Brett in the house–but he did find a stranger covered in tattoos sitting out in the afternoon sun, smoking a cigar, waiting for him.

“Fuck, I missed the fuckin’ sun,” he said, got up from where he was sitting, and chased down Garth, tackling him to the ground, beating him, and then dragging him into the basement, throwing him into a cramped cage down there. Garth looked around the space in terror–his basement had become a complete sex dungeon since he’d last been down here. He begged Mal to let him out, as the big man climbed the stairs to the main floor again, but Mal just laughed. “Sorry–but I think you need some time in the dark, Garth–some time to learn how the darkness can change you. I’ll be back down in a few days to start training you both, when you’re a bit more…malleable.”

It was then that Garth saw Brett in another cage across the basement floor, huddled and crying, naked. Then the basement door slammed shut, and sent them into total darkness.

April Suggestion Box Open! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

If there’s a story you’d like to see me write, I take submissions from readers every month over on Patreon. All it takes is one dollar a month, and you can drop your idea in the suggestion box, and also read all of the short stories I write based on them later in the month (as well as all of the suggested stories I’ve written before!) You can find more info by clicking on the link above, and thanks for your support!

April Suggestion Box Open! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Performance Reviews (Part 5)

*~* Six Months Later *~*

“Come on, Shitface,” Aaron said gruffly around his cigar, and tugged the leather leash. Whatever had caught it’s attention, the office pet followed Aaron into the bathroom to start it’s day. The bathroom had seen better days, but then again, it hadn’t been cleaned in nearly a year at this point. The partitions had all been torn out, leaving just two open toilets, covered in piss stains and shit smears, a couple sinks that no longer worked, and a urinal with a puddle of reeking piss that Shitface headed towards, while Aaron attached the end of the lead to the hook on the wall, next to the toilets. Shitface didn’t notice, it was too busy sucking up as much of the piss as it could. Aaron watched for a moment, still unable to believe that after all of this time, Carson was still in there somewhere. Cum dripped from the head of Shitface’s chastity cage, but it’s cock didn’t harden–Aaron had taught the beast better, with a good amount of electric shock punishment, and while it remained plenty horny, it hadn’t strained in its cage in a few months. With that, Aaron left the bathroom to get to work–Bryce needed his morning whipping while he ate breakfast. The fat fuck had been slowing down lately, and Ollie wanted him cresting nine hundred pounds by the end of the month, and pain had turned out to be a great motivator for him.

Shitface, meanwhile, finished off the puddle of old piss, and then knelt by the toilet, panting, and waiting. It wasn’t long before someone came in–Cletus, in fact, hauling around his huge gut in a pair of overalls, tobacco spit drooling into his wiry mass of a beard. He sat down with a grunt and started shitting, Shitface sucking his cock while he did and drinking his dipspit as well, until he finished, and then Cletus stood up, turned around, and let Shitface get what the beast really wanted, the nasty filth left in the crack. When it was clean, Cletus gave the beast a pet on the head and told it that it had dome a real good job, and noticed Ollie had stepped in after him without saying anything. Cletus offered his nasty redneck hole to him, but Ollie said he had some business with Shitface first, and Cletus left, disappointed, but some other dirty fucker in the office would want to ride him, he was certain.

“Well, it’s been another six months–why don’t we give you a real nice reward, eh Shitface, and see how Carson is doing in there?”

Ollie walked over, got down, and unlocked the cage around the beast’s cock. It didn’t know what to do–it hadn’t had it’s cock free in so long, and when Ollie started rubbing it, it didn’t respond at all–the beast knew what happened if it got hard, after all. Still, with some urging from Ollie, Shitface got into it, humping into his fist while he sniffed at his pits, but he didn’t manage to cum until Ollie bent over and let it eat out his crack. Only then, did he finally work a massive load from the beast, six months worth of cum pouring out of him and onto the filthy tile, and slowly, from the depths of himself that he hadn’t even known he possessed, Carson pushed his way back to the surface.

Or at least, what was left of him.

“Wha, where am…I? He muttered, lips struggling to form the words it had nearly forgotten.

“Welcome back Carson,” Ollie said, “It’s time for your review. But maybe, first, you should take a look at yourself in that mirror there.”

Carson crawled over where Ollie pointed, getting about a yard before realizing he was crawling. He tried to stand up…but didn’t quite know how, and ended up in a strange stoop, clinging to the sink to keep himself upright, and he could see what the last six months had done to him.

He was so smooth–smooth, and filthy. The hair on his head had either been freshly shaved that day, but from the grunge on his scalp, it was more likely that it had been removed entirely. The same with the hair on his face–and the hair on the rest of his body, though it looked like Ollie or Aaron had decided to replace it with tattoos. His entire front was covered with ink, and it ran down his arms and legs as well–but not on his face, for some reason. No–his face seemed wrong in other ways–his nose turned up, eyes small, mouth too large. That, and he was so…fat, so much fatter than he had been. He couldn’t remember clearly, but he’d been…around 275 when he’d last gone under, but now he looked to be close to 400, enough that he’d felt his gut graze the ground when he’d crawled a moment before. “What…you do to me? Not right, this not right.”

“Of course it’s right, Carson. This is you. You’re a brownnosing, filthy little animal, aren’t you?”

That did sound right, actually, but something…was saying no. A distant voice, but it was there. He shook his head, his hair flinging around him, but nothing seemed any clearer than before. “Not right, not right!” he yelled, “Not right, not me, no!”

He tried to turn and face Ollie, but fell back onto his hands and knees, where he knew he belonged. Ollie regarded him, and the cage in his hand. “I should probably just lock you away for a while longer, really do away with you, make you too stupid and weak to resist, but you know what? This is going to be more fun, you fucking animal.”

Carson slipped away, back into the darkness, and when he next surfaced, he had his face planted in a filthy crack, and someone was fucking him rough, rough like Master fucked him, rough how he liked it now. He’d cum again, and he struggled to pull away, but couldn’t–he was too tired, he was too tired to fight it anymore. The crack pulled away eventually, and Carson looked behind him, and saw it was Master fucking him, leering down at him around his massive cigar, and he felt…fear. So much fear. Obey master, always obey Master, or else punishment, so much punishment.

“Fuck, he is still in there, ain’t he?” Aaron said.

“The code phrase will work for you too, use it if you have to, and cage him up if his mind starts to come back and resist. I don’t think he will though–give him a few weeks, and he’ll accept it.”

Aaron waved the cage in his face, and said, “I don’t know, think I can trust you with your mind out, Shitface?”

He knew that wasn’t his name, not really, but…he couldn’t remember the other one, even though he knew Ollie had said it earlier. He nodded regardless. It was Master’s name for him, and that was all that really mattered.

Aaron looked back at Ollie, “I’m gonna enjoy having him know what’s happening to him–and trust me, in another six months? He’ll love it. I’ll make him love it, all of it. He’ll want to be a fucking pet–he’ll be begging me to use the words on him, to give him the release he craves.”

Ollie laughed. “Well, I’ll let you get started then, Aaron. And that was an excellent review as always–you’re my star employee.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aaron said, “I wouldn’t want any other job than this one.”

Performance Reviews (Part 4)

“I’m still that person, you can’t fucking break me,” Carson said, “I’m gonna blow this whole fucking thing wide open, you can’t do this forever!”

Ollie nodded, “Yeah, I know you’d try–and so, that’s why I’ve decided I simply can’t let that rational mind of yours hold onto the wheel much anymore,” he stepped closer, and Carson could…smell him, smell his stinking ass, but he fought against that urge as hard as he could. “See, that rational mind is still yours, but the rest of your head? I own it. All of it. Fuck, if you’d just give in, you wouldn’t even recognize yourself in a few days. So you know what? You’re going to have to learn how to let go–isn’t that right, you fucking animal?”

Carson didn’t know how to describe what happened next. It was like the urges pent up inside him ramped up to a roar, and every trick he’d found to hold them back could barely keep them at bay. He heard himself start panting, and smelled…piss. He’d pissed himself in the chair, right where he was sitting, and he hadn’t even cared. “No, you, how you do…that…” Carson said, but the words were slow, and nothing seemed to make sense.

“You are a tough one, aren’t you?” Ollie said, “Well, nothing can stop a fucking animal like you, trust me.”

He lost it. Carson felt his mind flung away, the instinct and desires Ollie had spent months planting in him taking complete control, and he threw himself out of the chair and onto his hands and knees, snorting and panting, nosing around to the back of Ollie’s pants. He…didn’t have a clear memory of what happened after that, it was just a cascade of wants and desires, none of it conscious, just a pursuit of whatever twisted pleasure his bestial and perverted mind desired. The next thing he knew, he was cumming, and the beast inside him lost force, allowing Carson to resurface and gain control again–and he found himself around the side of Bryce’s desk, still humping his massive, flabby thigh, and from the wetness in his pants, he had clearly cum just from grinding himself against his boss’s massive leg.

He fell back and looked to the clock. Two hours. He’d lost control for two hours, and he couldn’t remember a second of it, not clearly. He felt something cold in the back of his pants as well, and realized that somewhere in the midst of his rutting, he had shat himself as well. He was shaking in horror, and he looked up at Ollie standing over him. “I’m…I’m sorry, I’ll…I’ll do it, I’ll do everything, I swear, please don’t let it back out, please…”

“I’m sorry Carson, I really am, but you won’t be able to help yourself. You love control a bit too much. And in all honesty? You’re a hot fucking animal when you let go–and I’d rather have that nasty fucking beast in the office than you. Stand up, and strip.”

Carson, still pleading with him, stood up and took off his filthy shirt and soiled pants and underwear. Ollie grabbed something amongst the food on the desk, a little metal…something he didn’t recognize. Ollie started putting it on his cock, and Carson realized what it must be–a chastity cage. “No…No, you can’t…”

“Don’t worry Carson, I’ll let you out again eventually, but six months locked away will do a marvelous job grinding away some of that troublesome mind of yours. I have a feeling that when your next review rolls around, you’ll be a whole new man.”

He locked the cage, and gave it a tug, making sure it was secure. It was…so small. There was no way his cock could get an erection in it. “Please, please, just let me try.”

“Enjoy your last thoughts Carson–because you’re going to spend a good long time as my nasty, fucking animal from now on.”

He tried to fight it, but he was too weak to resist it again, and Carson’s rational mind slipped away again, and the animal fell onto its hands and knees, looking at the cage on its cock and whining a bit.

Ollie went to the door and hollered, “Aaron! Quit beating on the intern for a bit, and get over here. The project I mentioned is ready for you.”

Aaron appeared in the doorway, and grinned when he saw the snorting, empty eyed beast where Carson had been moments before. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.”

“Yeah, but he’s…well, look at the mess he made earlier. You’re job is to train the thing, make sure it can behave–or at least make sure it isn’t pissing and shitting all over the place–or make it clean up after itself if you prefer. Beyond that, make sure it stays plenty horny all the time–with that rank ass of yours, I doubt you’ll have a hard time with that. it’ll be going home with you too–so get used to parking around back, by the loading dock, out of sight. If people see him, we’ll have issues.”

“Sure thing Boss–can I give the thing a better name, too?”

Ollie shrugged, “Why not? What do you have in mind?”

“Come here, Shitface,” he said, calling Carson over, and the beast crawled to him, and started sucking his thick cock. “I think he likes it.”

Performance Reviews (Part 3)

*~* Six Months Later *~*

Don’t leave.

Carson opened the door to his apartment, stepped outside, and locked the door behind him.

Don’t get in the car, don’t do it, you don’t have to go there. You don’t have to be what the want you to be.

He walked down the steps, smelling the filth all over his unwashed shirt–the same shirt he’d been wearing for over a month at this point, the front stained with cum, ash, food–everything he could think of. He was horrified that someone might see him again, like they had yesterday–the shame…fuck, he hated this, he hated it, but he had to go, he had to. It was his job.

It’s not a job! It’s some fucked up twisted fucking shit. Don’t start the car. Don’t start the car, get out, and call the police, fucking call the police!

He started the car, backed out, and drove to the office, part of him already thinking about the delicious, unwashed asscracks waiting for him, and the other part, the real part, the…smaller part of him, horrified that he’d been doing this for months on end, and he hadn’t once been able to resist it. Still, at least he was trying to resist it–it seemed like the rest of the men in the office had all given into whatever strange shit Ollie had done to them, and never once looked back.

He parked the car, tried one last time to keep himself from going in there, and then took the elevator up, a bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth and running down the stubble on his chin. Other things had changed about him too, he was certain. Some of them were indisputable, like his weight. Every guy in the office had gained at least fifty pounds over the last six months, and some had gained…substantially more. More than should even be possible, in all honesty. Then, there was the hair. Everyone was hairier, and everyone had grown some kind of facial hair–usually a full beard, but depending on the role, some were allowed to shave parts of it appropriately. Carson, however, wasn’t like the rest of them…and it made sense. He was lesser than the rest of them, after all, he didn’t deserve hair. He shaved his all off twice a week–both on his head, and on his face, and around his cock too. It made him feel strange being around so many hairy men, but…but he didn’t deserve to look like a man, he supposed. Everyone should be able to tell right away, looking at him, that he was something less than a man, less than human, even.

The office was thick with smoke and the stench of rank bodies. The men already there were all involved with their usual activities, but he didn’t get to anyone before Aaron spotted him and made a beeline for him down the hall. Aaron was…huge, and one of the few men in the office who had packed on muscle in addition to a layer of fat. He was wearing his usual office attire–or what had become his usual attire, at least. Leather chaps and a vest, his gut hanging out that seemed to get hairier by the day, muir cap, and his favorite paddle in his hand, ready to strike anyone who needed a little extra discipline that morning. “Shitface! Bryce and Ollie want to see you–time for your six month review.” Then he gave Carson a wink–not a good sign. “Already had mine, told me I’m doin’ great. Turning into the perfect, nasty, domineering leather bear they wanted me to be. Tell me I’m gettin’ some new responsibilities around here soon. Hope I’ll still have time to spend with that tongue of yours.” He passed Carson, and as he did, gave his ass a sharp smack with the paddle, making him yelp and hurry along faster to Bryce’s office–or Ollie’s office really, he supposed. Ollie was the one who was really in charge here after all.

He knocked, and Ollie told him he could enter after a moment. Inside, he found the usual scene, or what had become the usual scene. Bryce was at his desk, which was clear of anything work related these days, and was now piled high with food. In six months, he had somehow gained nearly three hundred pounds of pure fat, a massive stinking apron hanging down between his huge thighs. He looked over at Ollie, love struck, and then kept stuffing himself, while Ollie, relatively unchanged, though filthier than ever, beckoned Carson in and had him sit down in the chair in front of the desk. Carson did everything he could to try and get out of there–the last review he had in here was still fresh in his mind–but Ollie had him, and Ollie knew it.

“Now Carson, why don’t we start off with a…self-assessment. As you remember, six months ago, Bryce and I gave you a new position here in the office. How has being the official brownnoser been going? You can be honest.”

“Fuck you,” Carson said, “You fucking freak, I don’t know how the fuck you’ve been doing this, but this stops–”

Ollie held up his hand and Carson’s lips froze, “Alright, that’s plenty of honesty from you. I was worried that you weren’t taking to your new role as readily as some of the other men in the office. In fact, I’d say you’re probably the most stubborn man here. Everyone else, in fact, has been adjusting great, and loving their new lives. You should have heard Aaron gush about how much he loves flogging Bryce’s big ass here. You love it too, don’t you Bryce? Be honest.”

“Oh fuck Ollie, I…I’m so disgusting, but I do,” he moaned with his mouth full, “I wanna be bigger, I wanna get…get stuck in here, fuck, I wanna be so big I can’t move.”

“See?” Ollie said, and turned back to Carson. “Now, with you, I’ve tried some extra programming, tried to convince you to give in, but I just don’t think it’s in you, Carson. You just can’t let go of that person you used to be.”

Digital Manipulation (Finale)

Trax spent a few months honing his new, and in his mind, much improved version of Perrion. It wasn’t too long before any trace of the old version was gone–he’d replaced his whole past with new memories, scrubbed all of his old desires and left behind a muscled out, dumbfuck skinpig desperate to be as big and freakish as his master desired. Still, it was only virtual. Trax had started this just as a way to get even, to vent some of his anger out on something that, in the long run, he figured he’d eventually just delete in a fit of shame and horror. But that wasn’t happening at all–instead, he was becoming obsessed.Obsessed not only with PJ, but also with the skinmaster persona he’d created for himself in the virtual realm. He wanted more–and he wanted it to be real…but how?

He couldn’t just kidnap Perrion–that would raise too much suspicion. Instead, he haunted him for a while, looking for a weak point he might be able to use to his advantage–and then he discovered, one night while spying on him, that Perrion had made a new purchase–a dream recorder. It was perfect–it was relatively new tech, and a lot of people had been raising concerns that they could be hacked and give people access to your subconscious. No one seemed too concerned about it. After all, companies already had complete access to your conscious already, what more could they really want?

A little malicious malware with PJ implanted inside, and a quick slip into Perrion’s apartment while he was at work, and everything was set up–PJ would have complete control over Perrion’s dreams soon enough–and a good deal more than that. The more Perrion exposed himself to the infected machine, the more PJ would slide into him, replacing more and more of his subconscious mind with his own perverse ideals and desires. Still, it had to burn slow, because PJ could be…a bit much upon introduction. He set the malware to trigger slowly, and make sure things only really ramped up once PJ was firmly rooted in Perrion’s mind. The process was set to take a year.

It was a grueling time to wait, but Trax had his own projects–namely, himself. He needed to be the skinhead master that PJ would want to be with in a year, or else the fucker would just ditch him for someone else. Trax wasn’t a large guy, but some of his less legal work had landed him a substantial windfall–mostly after making a few copies of some other people on mental vacations for clients. That money was pumped right back into his body–cybernetics mostly, growing his frame and skeleton from five and a half feet tall to nearly seven feet tall, and once he got a taste for cyber…it was hard to stop. He could pass for human, at times. But he liked how people looked at him, he liked how his metal snake of a cock could wrap around his wrist–or around his thigh under his bleached jeans.

He corrupted himself gladly, ruining his intellect, getting himself addicted to tobacco, and several substances harder than that. Still, he always had an eye on the calendar, and as the day approached, he was desperate to check in on Perrion, to see how he’d progressed…but he resisted. Better to wait for the day he’d arrive on his doorstep, begging his ex to take him back, unable to explain how he’d been dreaming about him for ages, and all he wanted was for him to twist him into some sick minded pervert pig skinslave.

The day came, and he didn’t have to wait long–Perrion arrived before noon, knocking on his door, and when he saw Trax–the new Trax, a stain of precum appeared on the front of the jeans he had on, shading the massive bulge of his somewhat siliconed cock. He was bigger than he’d been, his head shaved, looking shabby. He must have lost his job along the way, and now here he was, begging this alpha brute to take him and make him his–and Trax did just that, because Perrion, or PJ as he began calling him immediately still had so much further to go.

He’d been too terrified of the piercings to get many of them, but Trax quickly caught him up–he wanted hoops in his flesh everywhere, and he used them all the time to bind his skinpig up–to himself, or to the walls, where he’d put other hooks, using them to chain the pig in excruciating positions, while Trax’s massive metal cock wormed its way into his ass, or his thick fist drove its way into his guts. More and more, he’d see the look in his eye–that glazed look of awe–that he’d come to know so well in the simulation. It was PJ, taking more and more control, and helpless, Perrion was losing more and more ground, until he was locked away, and the only person left was PJ, or more often known as Chains, from the decorations Trax liked the thread through his piercings around his body, his massive, amorphous, mounding piece of cock meat bursting through the worn jeans Trax allowed the pig to wear when they were outside.

On occasion, Trax would plug PJ into VR, and boot up the original Perrion, just to introduce them. Introduce them, and then Trax would appear, and have his way with them both, revealing to Perrion that the hulking beast was him–the future him, the only him that really existed anymore. He wouldn’t believe it, of course, until he started changing as well, PJ overwriting him in the scenario, and Trax would get to relive the corruption all over again.

Performance Reviews (Part 2)

Bryce just looked at him, and then frowned. “You…oh, well…” Bryce flipped through the self-assessment in front of him, “We do seem to be on the same page, Carson, judging from this. Your performance this last review period has been…severely lacking. Look, you said it yourself, right here,” he cleared his throat and started reading from the papers Carson had just handed him, “‘I find being in a leadership position to be extremely stressful, and I lack the confidence to give clear direction. If anything, this promotion has shown me that I am much more suited as a follower than a leader,’ I have to say I agree with you, Carson. You just don’t seem to have it in you to be…in control, and Ollie agrees with me.”

Carson just stared at him for a moment, and then reached over, snatched the assessment back, and read it for himself. He didn’t remember writing that, he couldn’t have written that, and yet…and yet, there it was. He…thought he’d given himself a glowing review, but as he flipped through it, he…he realized everything he’d written about himself was terrible, and worse, as he read it…he found himself remembering writing it–he found himself believing it.

“You put a good face on it, I admit. I take some of the blame for this, you understand, I pushed you too far, before you were ready. I set you up for failure–I thought you could be something you aren’t. Still, this failure is helpful–we can find you a position more in line with your skills and natural aptitude. That said, I’m going to have to take away your team, and that promotion–I already told Aaron he’d take them over tomorrow, after we’re finished here, and I think he will be much more suited to the role of leader than you were.”

Carson knew he should feel…something. Something more than the numbness spreading through his entire body. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. He hadn’t written that, had he? But now that he’d seen it, right there…he couldn’t remember it, all of it. How he’d felt like he was drowning for the last months, how he hadn’t been able to feel…useful, how he knew he was out of his depth, and he was thankful that someone, at least, had seen it. “I’m…I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I really did.”

“We know.” It was the first thing Ollie had said, and he stood up before continuing, and walked over to the desk, next to where Carson was sitting. “We know you thought you could, but we know what you really are, Carson.”

Bryce nodded, “Yes, Ollie and I have been discussing what your role here should be going forward, and we…admittedly struggled, trying to figure out what skills, exactly, you could offer, because so far, it seems like the only thing you’re really good at is sucking up to me, and brown nosing your way into places you don’t belong. So Ollie and I have decided to give you a little…assessment of our own, and see if we can’t find you something a little more appropriate for your skill set.”

Carson had no idea what Bryce could be talking about, and beside him, Ollie undid the fly of his pants, turned around, dropped them and bent over, pushing his ass into his face. “Go on boy, just do what comes naturally.”

In his mind’s eye, Carson saw himself looking up at Bryce in horror, and storming out, giving some big self-righteous speech. He might not be good at his job, but he certainly wasn’t going to do something like this. But the crack was right there, inches from his face. Carson could smell it, and he leaned closer, sniffing at it, and then, he pushed his face into it and started licking. Tentatively at first, and then more fervently, one hand and then the other finding their way to Ollie’s asscheeks and spreading them apart, letting his tongue get in even deeper.

“What do you think, Ollie? Looks like he’s taking to it.”

“Ha, taking to it? He’s a natural, just like I fucking told you.”

“Fuck Ollie, I should know better than to doubt you–you’re always fucking right.”

Carson looked over at Bryce, desperate and terrified, unable to understand what he was doing, or why they were doing this to him. He kept trying to use his hand to push himself away, but it was like they were misinterpreting the signals from his brain. He would push, and his hands would spread, knead Ollie’s cheeks, and his tongue would dig a little deeper into his dirty hole. Finally, Ollie stepped forward and stood back up. “Passed the first test–why don’t you see about the suck up part, Bryce?”

His boss came around the desk, to Carson’s other side, his cock already out and hard. Again, Carson couldn’t stop himself, and he took it in his mouth, sucking eagerly, while Bryce and Ollie just laughed and chuckled, proud of themselves for finding just the right sort of job Carson would be good for–the office’s official brownnoser.

Two hours later, Aaron had already moved into Carson’s old office, and Carson was in there with him, apologizing. After all, he had never been suited for a leadership role here–no, he had figured out his place now, and that was making sure all of his betters in the office had the cleanest assholes, and had their cocks sucked promptly, whenever they needed it. In his head, Carson was horrified, and kept trying to put the breaks on, but when Aaron finally came down his throat and sent him away, he retreated to his new cubicle, and masturbated right there, thinking about how…good Aaron’s hole had tasted. He came, spraying cum on his shirt, and then got up. Maybe…maybe he’d just ask around a bit, or hang around the bathroom, and see if anyone else needed a little brownnosing. It’s what he was there for, right?

Performance Reviews (Part 1)

It was time for review at his work, and Carson was in his office, watching the clock on his computer tick away slowly to the top of the hour, when he’d be meeting with his boss to receive his “performance assessment”. Carson didn’t know why he was so nervous this time around. He knew there was no reason to be nervous, after all, he’d been doing a great job, and after the last stellar review he’d gotten, which had been capped off with a promotion, a substantial raise, and the privilege of running his own product development team, he knew everything was going to be just fine…and yet, everything at the office had been so strange lately, he couldn’t help but have a sense of some ominous doom hanging over his head.

He looked away from the clock and back to the rest of the screen for a moment, and then back at the clock in the corner, only to discover that in that briefest of moments, ten minutes had somehow passed in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either–if anything, it had been happening more and more often while he was in his office, this…losing time. Usually it was just a few minutes here and there, but just the other day he’d lost two hours he couldn’t account for. He’d have no memory either, of what he had been doing for that whole time–as far as he could tell, he’d just been sitting there, staring off into space, and yet as disturbing as that concept was, it also didn’t unnerve him nearly as much as he knew it should that it kept happening–after all, it had to be a sign of something serious right? Like a stroke, or who knew what? He hadn’t talked to anyone else about it, but it seemed like everyone in the office had been on edge for a few months now, ever since that last batch of hires, when their boss had brought on Ollie as some IT support, who was now their only IT support, after the rest of the team had quit without explanation over the next few weeks. Ollie was…a creep, and a slob, and never seemed to be getting any actual work done. No one could understand why Bryce didn’t just fire him, but any time someone tried to talk about it (including Carson a couple of times) Bryce wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

Still, with that ten minute loss, it was almost time for his review. He got his self-assessment together that he’d been working on for the last few days, put on his coat, and left to head for Bryce’s office. It was on the other side of the small building where they worked, and so Carson walked past most of his co-workers in their cubicles, and again, that sensation of doom swept over him as he passed them by. Most of them were just staring at their screens not doing anything at all, their jaws slack, but a few were…well, their behavior was a bit worrying, in all honesty, especially the ones who had already gotten their reviews this week. Phillip, he swore, hadn’t changed his clothes once since he’d had his three days ago, and when he passed him by, he…swore he was masturbating, but he didn’t want to get close enough to find out for certain. He caught a whiff of cigar smoke as he passed by Aaron, who seemed to be taking at least five breaks a day to go outside and smoke–though Carson was suspicious that he’d started smoking inside too, which was vile. Aaron looked over at him as he passed him by, and sneered slightly. They…weren’t on the best of terms, and things had only gotten worse since Carson had ben picked for that promotion over Aaron after the last cycle of reviews. Aaron thought he deserved it because he was older and more experienced, and he’d been spreading rumors around that Carson had only gotten it because he was a brown-nosing suckup to the boss. It wasn’t true, of course, and Carson hadn’t dignified it with an argument–he’d decided to just let his performance speak for him, and he’d done a good job, hadn’t he? This review would settle it at least, once it was over with.

He knocked on Bryce’s door, and a voice called him in. he opened the door, expecting to just find Bryce there on the other side–and his boss was there, but in a chair against the wall was another person–Ollie. Carson just stared at him, confused why he would be there. “Did…you just have your review, Ollie?” he asked, assuming he would be leaving in any case.

Ollie smiled at him, showing off his yellowed teeth, “Oh no–Bryce has asked me to sit in on reviews this cycle–you don’t mind that, do you Carson?”

Carson looked from Ollie over to Bryce, who was just staring into space at his monitor. He hadn’t even seemed to notice Carson stepping into the room. “I…I suppose not, no,” Carson said, and took a seat in front of Bryce’s desk.

His boss still didn’t seem to notice him, and he remained sitting for a few moments, until Bryce finally gave a start, and looked away from the computer. “Oh, Carson! Is it that time already?” he said, “I didn’t notice you come in–I’ve been getting very absorbed in my work recently.”

“Uh…yeah,” Carson said, “Here’s the, uh, self-assessment you asked me to fill out, sir.” Carson slipped the papers over to Bryce, his eyes looking back at Ollie. “Do…you mind if we do this in private, Bryce? I…don’t know why Ollie is here.”

“Ollie has been helping me out with all of the reviews this cycle. He’s a sharp guy–really understands people, what they need, what their potential is. Just try and relax Carson, I know you’re nervous, but a bad review can be more helpful than a great one, sometimes.”

Carson looked back at Bryce, confused. “A…bad one?”

Digital Manipulation (Part 7) [Interactive]

PJ knew it was a dream, though how he knew that exactly, was difficult for him to explain. It didn’t feel any different to him than real life, but it had felt like he’d been in a dream for ages, now. So long, he was beginning to doubt that he would even be able to wake up–so long, he didn’t even know what he could wake up as, anymore. So how did he know this was a dream? Because he wasn’t anywhere. It was just dark. He was standing, but he wasn’t standing on anything. He was breathing, but there was nothing to breathe. He could see, but there was no light that he could tell.

“Oi! There ya are mate.”

He spun around at the voice, and discovered that while he wasn’t anywhere in particular, he was no longer alone. There, standing in the nothing space with him, was someone else–and while it took him a few moments to catch on, he realized he was looking at himself. At a version of himself. At another version of himself…right? The similarities were obvious–both of them were huge–roided out with muscle, with prominent guts, their cocks and balls grown to obscene proportion, as where their chests and asses, which had been given implants as well. The differences though–they were so very different.

His doppelganger–his head and face were completely shaved–as was the rest of his body. It the place of the hair he had, tattoos and piercings covered his body–but it was the piercings which horrified PJ the most. They were everywhere–not just in the usual places like ears and nipples and noses. No, he had loops of metal dotting his flesh, running down his arms and legs, barbells were implanted in his gut in a spiral out from his belly button. The hoops were threaded in some places with twine and chain, in other places they were left unadorned. He took a step towards PJ, and he could hear the metal shake like some musical instrument of torture. “No–no, that’s…I’m not going to let you.”

He tried to run, but as he turned, he felt some awful yank on the head of his cock. He looked down, and saw that the massive, doorknocker sized ring running through the head of his double’s siliconed cock had somehow pierced his own as well, hooking them together. “Don’t worry Mate, it ain’t gonna hurt too much, trust me–you’ll love it anyway, soon ‘nough.”

He stepped closer, and the Jacob’s ladder running down the underside of his cock drew his own closer, and he felt every pin slide into his own flesh, until their cocks were completely connected from root to tip, jutting up between them. “Please, please, not this, I’m not you.”

“Not yet, ya ain’t,” his skinhead double said, “But come a little closer now, and let’s see about that.”

PJ raised a hand to strike him, to try and push him away, but the skinhead’s arm raised at the same time, and the tattoos running down his arm lashed out, wrapping their way around PJ’s arm and binding them together. He couldn’t help but be tugged in, and their gut’s touched, and every barbell spiralling around his gut joined to his, fusing them together, the tattoos sliding onto his body, the ink caressing him, and he shuddered, feeling the flesh of their cocks beginning to fuse together, phasing into one another until they were joined at the groin, one singular, and massive, cock jutting to one side, as their guts began to fuse as well.

“Gettin’ closer. Feels good, don’t it, mate?”

“Fuckin’ get off a me!” PJ shouted, but the skinhead lunged at him, spearing his tongue on the thick barbell through his own, tugging his face into his own, and PJ cried out as the rings, studs and bars in his doppelganger’s face all stuck to his own as well. He tried to move his arm…but he couldn’t feel his arm. Looking to the side, there was just one arm now–the skins, though it seemed…bigger and meatier after absorbing his.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be huge together, ain’t it gonna be great, mate?”

It took PJ a moment to realize that he shouldn’t have been able to hear the man’s voice, since their mouths were stuck together–no, he was hearing his voice in his mind, and it was getting louder, even as his own was getting quieter and quieter. The skin wrapped his spiked arm around PJ’s back and pulled him closer, pulled him into his body, and PJ lost sense of himself. There weren’t…really two of them, were there? Had there ever been two of them? All he felt was a sense of vertigo for a moment, and then he awoke with a jolt, looking around him, trying to figure out where he was…but he was right where he was supposed to be.

He was lying on a few sheets beside his master’s bed, where he slept every night. He wanted to get up, he wanted to see, but he couldn’t risk it. If master knew he was awake, he’d be punished…not that he minded being punished, of course, but Master could be…rough in the morning, before his coffee. It wouldn’t be the first time PJ had been confined to bed, his arms laced to the eye hooks running up the sides of his body, the barbells on the insides of his legs laced together as well, bound up in himself. Still…that dream. There was something he needed to remember, or someone he needed to remember, perhaps. It was all foggy now, and almost gone from his memory. He laid back down, and soon he was sleeping again until morning, when his master roused him with a boot to the ribs, and told PJ it was time to get the day started.

*

Trax, in his VR set, had taken on the roll of PJ’s skinhead master, and spent the next few days putting his heavily modded and warped ex-boyfriend through his paces, making sure everything was nice and cemented in this new version of him. All in all, he was very pleased with the result…but at the same time, he was a bit disappointed. As much fun as it was playing with a copy of his ex, what he really wanted was the real thing–but with this copy of his…well, there were a few ways he could have some fun with him in the real world, if he got close enough.

*

This next entry will be the finale. Below are a few options Trax could use to bring this copy of Perrion out into the real world. Choose the one you’d be interested in seeing.

Trax downloads the copy into an artificial body, and has the copy rape the real Perrion.
Trax kidnaps Perrion and replaces him with the copy. Together, they enjoy warping Perrion’s body into a twisted version of itself.
Trax implants the copy into Perrion’s subconscious, and let’s his ex’s new subconscious desires slowly ruin his life.

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The Bruiser Rapes – Case One (Part 3)

The next few days were…strange. I kept trying to put all of the pieces together, tried to figure out what I was missing, tried to find the whole I knew had to be there somewhere, but nothing turned up. We found no evidence of anyone else being in Bernard’s home–unbelievable if the rapist had been staying there the whole time, and it was impossible for the story to make sense if he hadn’t. Part of me wanted to bring Bernard back in and hold him until he finally told us the truth–the whole truth–but I in the end, I didn’t have to do that. Instead, Bernard called the local TV station, and told the truth on the evening news for the entire city–and soon enough the entire country to hear.

I didn’t see the interview until the next day, when someone from the department told me to watch it online. I couldn’t fucking believe what I was looking at, what I was fucking seeing. He got on there, and talked about the rape with the anchor, and what I was expecting was for him to rip into us, the police, for not doing enough to try and find his rapist. But what I saw instead was something else altogether. He denied it was a rape at all. The anchor was confused, because he had obviously told them he wanted to talk about his rape on the air, but he had been given a soapbox, and so he used it. He looked right at the camera, ripped off the turtleneck he had on, and there he was, still wearing that fucking collar around his neck. He starts raving, begging for his Master to come back, begging to know what he’d done wrong, and why he’d left. He told Master, whoever he was, that he loved him, that he wanted to be his slave forever–and then the station finally pulled the plug.

Needless to say, that caused some waves. We had to make a statement assuring the city we were investigating it as a rape. Somebody paid to have opinions on things on the television called Bernard a bruiser, and wondered if it was even possible to rape someone who looked as strong and burly and tough as that, and the name stuck, but to the wrong person. It was a mess, obviously, and the next day, I went over to Bernard’s home to try and get some better answers out of him, now that he’d gone and made him, and his rape, a national issue.

He was a wreck. One minute, he was lucid, and the next, he was raving at me to tell me where Master was, demanding to know where I was hiding him, demanding to know what he had to do to get him to come back. He’d told everyone, he’d told the world, but what else could it possibly take to get him to come back to him? I wondered if I should commit him to a psych ward, and as I tried to pin him down and get some straight answers out of him, I found myself getting rougher, and more demanding, and angry, and…well, horny.

He could feel it too, I think. I could see the fear in his eyes in what was happening between us, even before I realized anything strange was happening at all. I saw the fear for just a moment, and then he began pushing back, becoming obstinate and standoffish, arguing with me one moment, and then backing off and agreeing with me the next, always apologizing, and always calling me Sir.

I pushed and I pushed, and he retreated to his bedroom upstairs–I assumed out of shame and fear of what was happening to him, and locked the door. I demanded he let me in, I demanded he tell me exactly what the man had done to him, and when the door to the bedroom finally opened, all he told me was that he would show me exactly what Master had done, that we would learn together.

He was nearly naked, and that was worse, somehow. He was wearing only a leather harness, a cock cage, and a leather hood–and that fucking collar he still hadn’t removed, the collar I doubt he will ever take off for the rest of his life–and he got on his knees, and he told me he understood now. Master had left, but he’d sent him…me. A new master, someone he needed to serve as well as he’d served Him. He crawled over to me, where I was standing in shock at the doorway, and started prying open the front of my pants…and I let him.

I wanted him to do it, I wanted him to suck my cock, and I could hear…all of these little things in the back of my head, things some alien voice was whispering to me, just like how Bernard had described it to me in the interrogation room. I fought it off though, and pushed him away. I tried to talk some sense into Bernard, I told him he was traumatized, that he was suffering from some extreme PTSD, and that he needed to get help, but the only thing Bernard wanted was my cock. I ended up leaving–I couldn’t handle being that close to him, I didn’t know how long I’d be able to resist that voice, before I ended up doing to Bernard everything that rapist had already done to him down in that basement.

I went back the next day with a social worker for a welfare check, but Bernard was nowhere to be found. Eventually I found a note in his bedroom, addressed to no one, but I felt like he was speaking to me, or maybe at his rapist. He told him he understood what he needed to do now, that he’d found someone to serve, someone he needed to serve, and most importantly, someone who wanted him to serve him. He wouldn’t be returning here, apparently, and he didn’t care what happened to his possessions. We looked for him, but he did not want to be found. I’m sure, somewhere this very moment, he’d chained up somewhere, in some pervert’s home…and I think he might even believe he’s happy. I think about him too, some nights, the way I think about…all of them. The way I think about the rapist, the way I think about…so many men now. I can’t help it, I’m too close, too close to get away from it now, but I didn’t realize how close until a couple weeks later, when an old cold case came to my desk, wanting to talk about the bruiser.